


An angel's courting act

by Pansexualweirdo



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Eventual Romance, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Pet Names, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-03 20:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21185819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pansexualweirdo/pseuds/Pansexualweirdo
Summary: Aziraphale has found a way of confessing his love to a certain red-haired serpent, but the question is; will Crowley pick up on the hints?Written in both Crowley's and Aziraphale's point of view. I'm trying it out and would love to hear your feedback.Happy reading!





	1. We are the champions

**(Crowley's POV)**

It all began one bright, early morning, as lovely as any other. Despite Crowley’s usually grumpy temper in the morning, he has shared the first light of day with Aziraphale lately. It turns out securing the Earth’s existence and peace (or at least temporary truce between heaven and hell), helps you sleep better at night. Who would have known? Crowley wakes up by himself not too soon after his angel, and they take turns brewing the tea.

Granted, Crowley doesn’t exactly revel in eating and drinking, but he’s more than willing to make sacrifices for the food-loving celestial, minuscule as they may be.

But you see, this morning was different. As Crowley rattled about in the kitchen, fetching teacups and brewing water in Aziraphale’s kettle, he stopped to throw a glance over to where the angel was sitting, perched in his armchair with a laptop balanced on his lap. An intense expression clad his features, his brows pinched and, _oh God_, his bottom lip caught between rows of white teeth. The demon felt a familiar heat under his collar and it quickly spread up to his cheeks, and with a faint hiss, he yanked his head away from the door frame.

What was Aziraphale looking so focused about? The look on his face had been more than just ‘intrigued’, and it was if he was in deep thought, mulling over something rather significant. With a furrow in his own brow, Crowley briefly wondered if he’d ever seen the angel so enraptured, even in his own books.

_Absurd_, he thought, it’s none of his business. Perhaps Aziraphale had just found an interesting article or written work online, or something along those lines. It certainly wasn’t anything to lose your head thinking about.

After a good few minutes of staring into Aziraphale’s collection of blended tea - elderflower, chamomile, buttercup, jasmine, lavender, for Satan’s sake, how many tea sorts were there? -¨-, Crowley gave up on choosing and grabbed two flavors at random to add to the hot water. Once he returned to the living room - or what _they_ called the living room, you have to be creative with the space of a bookshop, see -, his angel’s laptop was nowhere to be seen and Aziraphale had instead buried his face in a book. Hmm.

“Tea, Angel,” he notified Aziraphale, who put down his book to flash the demon a blinding smile. It was one of those smiles that he only seemed to reserve for Crowley, that crinkled his eyes and made the devil feel as if his legs were made out of jelly.

Crowley cleared his throat, face burning when he averted his eyes to look literally _anywhere_ else and he handed Aziraphale his cup. Their fingers brushed.

“Thank you, Love,” the celestial cheerily replied, and Crowley, who had just turned around to leave the room due to heart tremors, stopped dead in his tracks, unsure if he had misheard.

He swirled around, sporting a shade of bright red on his face, to see how an innocent, and quite frankly, _infuriating_, smile reached cherub cheeks.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“I just said thank you, Dear.”

_Did_ he say ‘dear’? Crowley could’ve sworn he heard ‘love’. But after holding Aziraphale’s blue-green eyes for several decade-long moments, Crowley dropped it. Cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses.

“Oh. Yeah, er- you’re welcome,” he stammered less than smoothly and moved out of the room, confused and flustered. Little did the demon know, this was only the beginning…

* * *

**(Aziraphale's POV)**

“Oh, goodness!” Aziraphale exclaimed, face hot as he slapped the laptop shut.

He was amidst reading an article about how to express affection to your beloved, and well, this particular suggestion was in its concept enough to fluster him.

“I can’t do that!”

There was no way! It would be too obvious, and _far_ too inappropriate. The angel had hoped there were ways a little... more discreet than this, for a start. However, he eventually found a rather intriguing tip, involving these so-called ‘pet names’. And one google search later, Aziraphale quite liked the idea of calling Crowley cute things. _Endearments_, if you will.

Oh yes, a fact one may not want but would definitely _need_ to know for this to make any sense, is that Aziraphale, the principality and angel, is in love with Anthony J Crowley, a _demon_, and has been for the last 6000 years. He’s not sure how or why this is in any way possible, but after a row unexpected - although not entirely unpleasant - happenings in a certain church, year1941, the celestial realized he could no longer hide his feelings for Crowley. The serpent had walked on consecrated ground and risked his life just to save him, for heaven’s sake! He had even bothered to save his books, and the amount of effort the demon put into tasks and deeds just for Aziraphale was, to put it all into two words, impossibly endearing.

Crowley makes Aziraphale feel special, special in a way he never has felt before.

For millennia, Crowley has taken care of and protected the angel. So now, it’s high time for Aziraphale to return the favor. And what better way to do that, than to search the internet for help on how to confess your love? A thing as subtle as pet names, for someone as much of a nervous wreck as principality Aziraphale, might just work.

Newfound determination thrummed in Aziraphale’s veins and built a spark of hope in his core. He closed up the bookshop to head downtown in search of a gift he could bring to Crowley.

Oh, yes! It’s wonderful! Simply marvelous! Crowley will _love_ this, Aziraphale’s sure of it. A black tee with his favorite band Queen’s logo printed on the front, the demon will surely be over the moon! When the angel stepped up on Crowley’s porch step with the gift in hand behind his back, he couldn’t fight the pleased smile stretching across his face. He has truly outdone himself this time. There’s no way this can go wrong!

A minute later, after having knocked with polite urgency - no less than five times -, the door cracked open, and out popped the serpent’s face, expression wary.

“Angel?”

Not quite the greeting Aziraphale had hoped for, but he hadn’t exactly messaged Crowley he was coming, so he’d take it in stride.

When the demon opened the door fully, Aziraphale realized that he wasn’t clad in his regular attire. No, he was wearing a black silk robe that hung loosely on his slim frame, lazily closed with a tied bow on his waist. Slid down one shoulder in a way that was nothing if not provocative. Aziraphale felt color dusting his cheeks and he stumbled over his words as he spoke.

“Hello, ah, Crowley. Did I- well- I certainly hope I didn’t interrupt anything?”

“Nah, wass jus’ sssleeping.”

And indeed, his voice did sound rather rough, so Aziraphale glanced over his wristwatch and gaped.

“At 9 pm on a Friday?”

“Well, what elsse was I sssupposed to do?” asked Crowley with an annoyed hiss, leaning onto the doorframe. He never was a morning person. But something changed his mind when he studied the look on the celestial’s face.

“Right, sorry. Come on in.”

And so Aziraphale did. Crowley snapped his fingers to summon two glasses of red wine, but when he realized Aziraphale was still waiting in the hallway, his brow arched above his shades in piqued interest. He set the drinks aside and gestured to behind the angel’s back, where his gift was safely stored.

“What uh- what’ve you got there?”

“Well,..”

Aziraphale found himself feeling anxious before Crowley now, after all these years. The demon watched him intently.

“I uh- I bought you something I thought you would enjoy.”

_Oh, to hell with it!,_ Aziraphale thought and pressed the wrapped gift into Crowley’s hand, their fingers brushing just briefly. The angel made an arduous attempt in staying grounded as he watched Crowley pop the lid off the fancy little box - specifically designed in tartan and ivory - and unfold the shirt, distinct surprise striking his features.

“Do you… Do you like it?” Aziraphale asked, hands fidgety where they worked beyond the angel’s own consciousness. Crowley then winced, and alarm spiked in Aziraphale’s system, grasping hold of him.

“Oh, Angel, it’s a lovely gift, it’s just…”

With a flick of his wrist, the sound of doors rolling open filled the room. Aziraphale whipped around to see a closet opening up, and inside, no doubt, was Crowley’s - quite impressive, he has to say - collection of Queen merchandise. There were pins, flags, band tees, posters, and an _identical_ shirt to the one Aziraphale had just bought the demon, staring back at him, mocking him.

_Bugger_.

“Oh. Oh, I should’ve realized... I’m terribly sorry, Crowley.”

He looked down at his feet. Felt a hand on his shoulder. Froze.

“Oi! Don’t apologize, Angel. The fact that you picked out a gift for me at all is already flattering. And besides, this’ll be far dearer to me than the one I got at a hot topic,” promised Crowley and with a snap of his fingers, the shirt he had stored in his closet smoldered into nothing.

Aziraphale looked up at the demon again, who wore a smug grin. He bowed his head sheepishly when Crowley once again grabbed their drinks and handed the angel his.

“Now Dear, was that really necessary?”

“Of course it was!”

And so it seemed, because, with another granted miracle, Crowley’s robe was nowhere to be seen, and instead, the serpent was wearing the shirt that was in his hand a second ago. (_and_ a pair of skinny jeans, we aren’t quite _that_ lucky) the shirt fit him well, no doubt, and with how stunningly he smiled at Aziraphale, the celestial had to make an effort not to let his heart take the lead and for him to let the words ‘gorgeous’, ‘dashing’ and ‘handsome’ slip out.

“I’m so glad it suits you, Love," he instead settled for, and the way Crowley’s cheeks darkened with the endearment did not go unnoticed by the angel.

Crowley cleared his throat, taking a swipe from his glass. He was trying to present casual, but the way he shifted his weight from side to side gave him away.

“Right, yeah, thanks. And uh, thank you for the shirt. Why now, though? Is it my corporeal birthday or something?” the serpent asked, rushed and choppy.

It hit Aziraphale like a bat to the head that they, indeed, _didn’t_ celebrate their corporeal forms’ birthdays, and he decided that needed to change. But it would have to wait for another time. Right now, Aziraphale wanted to concentrate on achieving his goal by professing his love for Crowley… One step at a time.

“Not that I’m aware of, no. I-”

Despite his efforts, the principality's eyes betrayed him by fixating on the wall behind the object of his affection instead of directly _at_ said object of affection.

“I simply wanted to express my appreciation for you, my Darling. You’re very important to me and I don’t know if I say it enough.”

Good Lord, could Aziraphale be _any_ more obvious? The color on his face burned and the flat they were standing in felt as if engulfed in flames.

“Ngk,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale blinked, _oh_? Finally mustering up the courage to look at Crowley, he could see that the serpent was just as, if not _more_, red than what the angel was, trying to cover his face with his hand.

“Crowley?”

“M’fine. Hunky Dory, just-”

And he made another strangled sound, low in his throat when Aziraphale boldly - yet no less nervously - grabbed a hold of his hand, lacing their fingers together. He studied the look on Crowley’s face carefully but frowned when unable to see the serpent’s eyes behind those cursed shades of his.

The _audacity_ this man has to hide such beautiful works of art away from the rest of the world was no less than **insulting**.

“May I?” His voice was unfamiliar to himself, softer than ever, and when Crowley eventually managed a nod, Aziraphale slid his sunglasses off.

“There you are. My love, there really is no need to wear these around me.”

Wide, golden eyes stared into his, slitted pupils dilated near into circles, swallowing the yellow.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley almost growled, low and hoarse, and it pricked the hairs on Aziraphale’s arms to hear his own name being spoken in such a tone. He shuddered, swallowing as the inches of space between the pair shortened with each breath he took.

“Yes, Dearest?”

“Same to you. I mean- you’re, y’ know… You’re important to me, too.”

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley's hand and willed his human heart to stop thumping so in his chest. He could barely hear his own thoughts.

“I’m glad.”

And suddenly, with no idea who began leaning in, their noses bumped together, and they were so very close, Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s hitched breathing mingle with his own. He tried to settle between holding the devil’s amber eyes, radiating waves of nerves and hesitation and, _oh_-_ six thousand_ years of unconditional, infinite love - it was so intense Aziraphale could feel tears prick the corners of his eyes - and pink, parted lips.

_‘Weeeee are the champions, my frieeend,.. And weee’ll keep on fightiiing-’_

They both jumped at the disruption, loud and inconvenient from no other source than Crowley’s phone.

“Sodding piece of fucking shite-”

The demon swallowed whatever other sinful words he was about to utter, but Aziraphale couldn’t say he blamed the demon. Any other time, he would be happy to listen to Freddie Mercury’s angelic (ha!) voice, but _now?_ Now wasn't the best of times.

Muting his phone and flinging it halfway across the flat, Crowley scored it right into a cushion on his sleek living room sofa.

“I’m so sorry.”

Scrambling after his glasses again, Crowley stumbled back a few steps and Aziraphale could finally exhale. So that was it, huh? The moment of their millennium-long pining finally coming to an end- _gone_. Blown away. Lost forever.

“T-that’s quite all right,” Aziraphale managed, now registering the steel-tight grip he’d been holding on his glass of wine, and he moved to the living room with a dull ache in his chest.

“What do you say about watching a movie, Dear?”

“Yeah, uh… sure, I mean- why the hell not?” 


	2. 6000 years of pining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale continues to be a heavenly pain in Crowley's arse, and eventually, Crowley snaps. 
> 
> This entire chapter is from Crowley's POV, and there's a lot of his internal, excessive thinking in this, which I hope transfers just how much he is suffering. I feel horrible making them suffer but I love giving them what they want in the end. cx
> 
> Enjoy!

**Crowley's POV**

It had been exactly a week now since the, ahem... incident. Or, if you ask Crowley, a heaven-sent miracle appeared and he had been approximately 2 inches and a breath short of kissing a certain winged, tartan-wearing angel. But Aziraphale would hardly call it a miracle. After all, if he wanted to snog Crowley, he would have made a move millennia ago, surely.

...Right?

But, since then, the endearments and pet names have not stopped. If anything, they’re _increasing_, and every single one of them sticks with Crowley like the damn plague. ‘Love’, ‘Dearest’, ‘Darling’, a word, a couple of letters and syllables strung together and _this_ is the effect they have on a full-fledged demon? They’re making him soft! And Crowley does endear ‘soft’ on his companion, in every way of the word, but _demons_ are not supposed to be soft! Nor are they supposed to pine after angels, but Crowley has never been very good at following the rules anyway.

The thing was, these pet names, paired with a bright smile - one that should put the sun itself to shame - or a brief touch (a brush against his shoulder, linking their arms together, a nudge of feet beneath the dining table) spiked Crowley’s heart rate a rather concerning amount, and each moment of trying not to snog the daylight out of his angel was torture.

Just like a fortnight ago, when they were finishing up at the Ritz.

“Dearest, let me take the bill, won’t you?”

It was purred rather than spoken, and a ringed finger touched his. The contact was enough to make Crowley's heart set itself on burning Hellfire. Crowley blinked at the celestial - he’d be damned if he couldn’t see a twinkle of amusement in cerulean eyes - and, perfectly summing up all of his feelings into one exclamation, he choked out a sound.

“Ngk.”

* * *

And don’t even get him started on the drunken conversation they had just last night. Aziraphale, a little less prim and proper than usual, sat spread out in his armchair, nurturing his last sip of wine and swirling his glass around, one-handed, in thought, while Crowley rested comfortably upside down on the couch. He could see the gears turning in the angel’s pretty head, and gawked rather impolitely.

“Can I-... Can I ask you a question, Love?”

Crowley was drunk, but no amount of inebriation would make him immune to that word. _If you stop calling me that and getting my hopes up, _he thought, pleading that his thoughts would transfer to the other.

“Er, yeah?”

“Would you- oh, I suppose it is rather silly...”

“C’mon angel, just ask,” Crowley urged, a wee bit impatient.

With a shaky exhale, Aziraphale held his gaze, and Crowley was suddenly sober.

“Would you have gone to Alpha Centauri without me?”

Crowley choked on his tongue, too big for his mouth. He hoped his shades would cover some of the heat he felt blossom onto his cheeks.

“What?” He asked, despite having heard Aziraphale clearly.

The angel picked at something on his sleeve, seemingly too nervous to look at his counterpart.

“Well, you must remember, surely, when you asked me to follow you to Alpha Centauri. So... hadn’t it been for the end of the world getting in the way, would you have left? Alone?”

Crowley sat upright, and he swallowed, unable to do something as sinful as look the angel in the eye and lie.

“No.”

There was an exhale of relief following that statement, quiet but audible.

“No?”

“No, of _course_ I wouldn’t‘ve left! I had planned it all for both of us, for!-...”

He clicked his jaw shut, he would _ruin_ this friendship if he even said another word. 6000 years of visits to the Ritz, of drunken banter and crepes and exchanged deeds thrown in the bin. 6000 years of unrequited pining would be lost for all eternity. 

“Yes?” Aziraphale spoke. He wouldn’t quite give in, and he waited patiently for an answer, sitting up straight now and wearing an expression of hopeful curiosity. Crowley felt his heart lurch, and he gulped, all too aware he wouldn’t be able to say no to the principality.

“I was ready to give up on the Earth, as long as you... were with me.”

His voice was uncharacteristically small. Aziraphale made him feel so uncertain. And in the best way possible, he might add, but right now, with the way things were and the way things turned out, this uncertainty might just be the most terrifying feeling in the world.

“I guess I just wanted to get away from it all. From all the shit down there and whatever fuckery Gabriel and those other so-called angels were cooking up at your lot’s.”

That coaxed a tiny, adorable little laugh from Aziraphale, and Crowley patted himself on the back.

“I know I said I’d go by myself but... I’d rather be close to death with you by my side than safe alone.”

What absolute fucking diabetes shit did he just spout? Crowley hid his face in his hands, he truly was a disgrace of a demon.

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed in a pitched voice, full of awe and love and Crowley could feel it spilling into his pores, filling his chest with an intense force.

He could _not_ look up at his angel.

“Ssshut up!”

* * *

Back to the present, where an angel and a demon were fraternizing by the lake in St. James Park.

_This is my punishment_, Crowley thought, watching Aziraphale feed the ducks with an impossibly wide grin. _This is what I get for being a shitty demon. Everything I could ever want, right in front of me, and yet I can never have him._

“Crowley? Are you alright, Honey?” the angel posed, a crease of worry in his brow. _Honey_. Crowley willed his useless mind to work just for **once**, and he gave a too-quick nod.

“Fine. Just peachy. Why d'you ask?”

“It’s just, well, you look rather pale, Dear. Maybe you’re catching a fever.”

He then used the back of his hand to check Crowley’s temperature, the softest of touches to his forehead. Crowley swallowed loudly. _No, it’s just _you_. _

“Knock it off,” he finally hissed, lifting the celestial‘s hand from his skin and dropping it so it returned back to his side. And Aziraphale blinked, all wide-eyed concern at him.

_This hurts._ Every touch of the angel's bled into Crowley’s skin, every word inked into him, marking his soul as Aziraphale’s. Crowley had always been his, and now, the angel was finally acting upon that. It was too fast and not fast enough at the same time.

“Let’s get you home, okay? I don’t want you collapsing on me out here.”

And with an encouraging pat on his back, touch lingering and _burning_, Crowley was done for. He nodded, completely defeated. And while he’s quite sure he’ll collapse back in Aziraphale’s bookshop all the same if this keeps going the way it does, he’s got enough common sense to know when he is beaten.

By _pet_ _names_ of all bloody things, but he’s beaten nonetheless.

The short walk home, Crowley was unable to as much as look in the principality’s direction. He could sense the tension in the air, all the same, just hanging like a vile stench, and he hated it. It wasn’t like this before. _This is all you,_ he reminded himself. _It’s all your fault. You made it weird, you had to go falling for the angel all over again just like you fell from heaven. _

Then, as if hearing Crowley’s self-deprecating thoughts, Aziraphale’s linked his arm with his, reaching for his hand and entwining their fingers together.

_This is it. This is how I die,_ he thought.

* * *

The pair stepped inside A.Z Fell’s bookshop, and Crowley’s patience was unbearably thin, the amount of affection he’s been flooded with catching up with him as Aziraphale took his jacket and hung it up next to his own on a coat racket. He turned to address the serpent, the calm smile on his face doing Crowley in. The demon hadn’t even realized he was clenching his fists, his knuckles turning white.

“May I treat you with a hot cup of tea, my dar-“

_That’s it!_ Crowley cut the bastard off, shoving him up against the nearest wall with just enough force to quiet him.

“Crowley?”

“Would you ssstop that?!” Crowley hissed, a steady grip on the lapels of Aziraphale’s shirt, his front pressing against the angel’s.

His chest was heaving and every second of watching Aziraphale play innocent and clueless like he just drank all of the demon’s expensive wine, was _exasperating_.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Dear.”

“_That!_ Ssstop calling me cute shit and being so nice. You’ve no idea what effect it has on me.”

_Wait_. Why was the angel looking so secure? He was straight up smiling at Crowley, staring death in the face and mocking it.

“What effect _does_ it have on you, Love? Tell me.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a demand, a _challenge_. A tick of brows and a curl of lips.

Crowley turned red. This bastard was testing him, wasn’t he? He wanted Crowley to tell him in words how much he loved him. But frankly, Crowley would rather chug 20 gallons of holy water than do that right at this moment. Through the unbroken contact of soft blue eyes and slitted yellows - Crowley didn’t know where his glasses were but he cursed them for being elsewhere than on his face -, Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s chest, muffling a silent sob.

“Do you enjoy torturing me, Angel? Is this some kind of fucked up game?”

Aziraphale seized up at that, the playfulness in eyes and smile vanishing when Crowley looked up at him, tear streaks down his face. His heart hurt an in-fathomable amount, worse than when he had to speak badly about Aziraphale in front of the dukes of hell. Worse than when he fell.

“Crowley...”

Raising a careful hand, thumb brushing cheek, the angel wiped away a tear, moving to cup the serpent’s face. A broken noise emitted from Crowley’s throat, foreign to his own ears, and he keened into the touch, relishing in what he expected to be their last act of physical contact ever.

“I don’t know what obscure scenario you’re building in that wild mind of yours, but Dear...”

Aziraphale smiled then, beautiful and brilliant. Crowley’s grip on his shirt tightened.

“Every word I’ve said, every name I’ve called you by, has been my attempt of making you realize how smitten I am with you.”

And all the breath left Crowley’s lungs at that moment. Not that he needed it, but for God-Satan’s-... _Someone’s_ sake! How was he supposed to respond to that?!

“You mean you...”

“Yes, quite. I’ve loved you for six thousand years, my beautiful darling.”

Oh _fuck_. Tears welled up in Crowley’s eyes for another reason entirely, and he _whimpered_. What he had known to be reality all these millennia, the wall he had built up over years of what he had thought to be unrequited pining, it all crumbled into pieces before him.

And Crowley was fine with it.

Aziraphale’s thumb pressed into his lower lip with a touch of urgency. He took Crowley’s face in his hands and held the serpent’s shiny eyes with his.

“May I kiss you, Dearest?”

And what else was Crowley supposed to do but nod? He was sure he wouldn’t be able to talk even if he tried to. So when the angel closed the breadth of space between the two of them, pressing his lips insistently against his, Crowley melted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with how this turned out, and I had to trash the pages of smut I wrote. It just didn't turn out the way I had hoped. So sorry. Hopefully, this suffices.^^

**Author's Note:**

> I am blue-balling myself here, too. ;-; Don't worry though, chapter two will be worth it! Thank you for reading. ;3


End file.
